


Managing Expectations

by laserisanacronym (MissGillette)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha Brienne of Tarth, Alpha Jaime lannister, Alpha/Alpha, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Brienne of Tarth, Bodyguard, Bottom Jaime Lannister, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting, Falling In Love, Frottage, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Knotting, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mild Gore, Mutual Pining, No Incest, POV Jaime Lannister, Romantic Jaime Lannister, Self-Discovery, confident brienne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29780877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/laserisanacronym
Summary: Working at a clinic that primarily provides heat relief for omegas, Jaime doesn't treat many alphas. When he meets Brienne—aggressive, unyielding, refuses to break eye contact first—his interest is too great to ignore. Through touch therapy, he unravels the trials and tribulations that make Brienne who she is. And discovers much about himself along the way.-“You really are an alpha. Don’t see that everyday.”Jaime can’t help himself, can’t stop the quip that’s almost as impulsive as breathing. A spike of glee pierces him when the giant woman’s face pinches impossibly harder, teeth surely grinding behind those pale lips of hers. Seven, she’s a sight, and he wouldn’t mind seeing how far he can twist her before she’s the one making a scene. Usually that’s his job.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 40
Kudos: 66





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story went through so many changes, revisions, title alterations... I'm just glad to be done with it lol. I'm excited to post it but have low expectations anyone will read it. ABO isn't really a thing for this ship, so I thought why not do what I do best and write something niche af. Don't let this first sex scene misconstrue anything, Jaime is passive/bottom-y for almost all of the others. Also the prologue is not in chronological order with the rest of the fic. Chapter 1 takes place one year prior to it.
> 
> This story is 100% complete on my end, sitting at just over 95,000 words. There is no chance this will be left incomplete, so read with peace of mind. It will update on Mondays (you know, for the massive audience of 0). The Graphic Violence tag isn't relevant until chapter 13.
> 
> missgillette on tumblr or missraygillette on twitter (I'm significantly more active on twitter, which is a shame). You (yes you, specifically) maybe be the only one reading this, so maybe drop a comment. I have no friends in this fandom and thus I only have feedback from my darling friend who I sort of pity-begged them to read the first few chapters.
> 
>  _The World of Ice & Fire_ was an invaluable source for world building and would be cited throughout if I took the time to actually cite things.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tells Brienne it's over.

Under him once more, Seven it feels more like it’s been years and not just two months, Brienne is on Jaime’s skin, in his nose, in his mouth. Luckily for the twin groans on their lips, this room is soundproof. For her privacy, of course. Dim, pleasantly cool. It’s their space for now. To shuffle on their knees together—straining, rocking, spines shivering. Jaime doesn’t give two shits about someone hearing the deep grunts rumbling out of him. A rough curl of a noise that would have anyone else under him mewling. Bared necks and begging for the knot currently teasing her. Brienne is no demure, whimpering omega, though, and Jaime is all the more thankful for her deep growls. She shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t visit him every time the tide turns in her and demands she satisfy that cloying desire in her. The clinic doesn’t even provide rut relief. All worries under-rug-swept, all consequences considered and brushed aside. Jaime slows the rock of his hips, squeezes her waist almost tenderly all while such thoughts roll off him like sweat on his back. He’s doing this for her, for her safety and comfort. She trusts him.

It’s already killing him that he’ll have to tell her it’s over…

Lips nuzzled well away from the puckered, gnarled scar on Brienne’s shoulder, Jaime groans, “One more, darling. I know”—he grunts when she tightens around him, thrashing with her nails caught in the sheet—“I know it’ll take one more, I’ve got you, Brienne.”

Those shoulders damn-near broader than his hunch up around the tattered, sweaty locks of Brienne’s hair. The back of her neck is flushed, snow blotting up blood. He can’t bite her there no matter how badly he wants to. The mangled shoulder and thin scar at the front of Brienne’s throat forbid it. That doesn’t stop Jaime’s teeth from aching in his jaw for that pressure. Her shoulders crowd together like she can hear his thoughts. Maybe she can, because she bucks back against him not unlike a wild bull.

Something in Jaime’s gut twists—yes don’t give up, don’t give into me so easily. He curls back over Brienne to drag his teeth over her unblemished shoulder. Not enough to hurt. Not even enough to leave red lines behind when he arches forward to do it again. This way, his weight holds her down, gathers behind his hips until she can’t refuse him. No matter her gasp or how she goes stone-still, he won’t be denied. Still, Jaime freezes with their bodies so wound up, so close to the edge. This would hurt her if not for the thunderous down-pour of an orgasm he’d drawn from her earlier. With her nails like claws in his hair, her weight leaning dangerously on his neck and chest, choking on her when she came wet against his mouth. But he gave her that. And he’ll give more, but she must first let him in.

“Brienne,” he groans like a dying man. Jaime leans his forehead on the nape of her neck, presses forward until they’re both shaking. Right arm curled under her, his fingers scramble through silvery curls to find her hard clit. Big as the tip of his index finger, he jams his thumb into it and strokes while rabbiting his hips forward. “Yield, damn you!”

Brienne’s next inhale catches in her voice. She manages to muffle her ragged moan of, “Jaime,” but cannot stop her knees from giving out.

The narrow clinic bed shudders when Brienne hits it. Jaime’s weight swiftly follows, trapping his hand between her legs and slamming his knot all the way home. Will he ever get over the odd sensation of fucking a female alpha? How Brienne seems to seize up impossibly tighter to keep him there? Brienne always locks around him in a terrible, punishingly tight squeeze. A knot of her own. Like nothing he’s ever experienced, and he’ll never grow tired of it. Her. Green eyes may flutter and roll back in his head, but the tight clutch of Brienne around him cannot deafen Jaime to her scream.

“Jaime!”

He tries to grunt her name as his orgasm takes over, filling the condom. All Jaime manages is a long, rolling groan. Like a shock, he jolts on top of her when velvet squeezes around him again. Her hips grind against his fingers as she pulses on his cock. Again and again until he almost can’t breathe, has to fight to suck down air while his own belly flips as he comes. Hair in his eyes, Jaime throws his left hand out and scrambles to find hers. He does, first two fingers slipping into the V at Brienne’s thumb. At the first brush of his skin, she clings to his hand for dear life and flattens her face into the pillow under her. The muffled bellows that whisper from the cotton of the pillow pet over his jaw and hair so lovingly. Seven, she’s loud, always pants and moans with abandon as they ride each other out. Lazy grin uncurling like a frond, Jaime rests all his weight on Brienne and grinds against her. Just to hear Brienne’s moan go a little high halfway through.

“What a lovely sound,” he sighs. All his words smashed together and lips loose, Jaime turns his head to nuzzle the space between Brienne’s shoulder blades. Kisses pepper that soft space to comfort her while Jaime wiggles his right hand free. He chuckles when Brienne’s next breath bucks them, not quite a sob or cry. Quieter, he murmurs, “I’m right here, Brienne. It’s over.”

The joint-popping grip on his fingers loosens enough for Jaime to cover the back of Brienne’s hand. It trembles something awful, but he makes no teasing note of it. Instead, when Brienne’s knuckles brush just under his, spooning, he laces them together. Jaime presses his nose and jaw to Brienne’s unmarked shoulder instead of poking at how she strangles a wounded sound in her mouth. He turns his cheek to the next, wet inhale she fights to take. 

“Hush,” he shushes. “Not long now.”

His name is lost to the twisted pillowcase almost in Brienne’s teeth. And yet he shivers as if her lips had caressed his ear. Instead, sharp teeth claim his fingers entwined with hers when Brienne drags their hands to her mouth. She must not mind the salt and sweat of him as she quickly goes from careful smears of lips to his hand to biting at the delicate inside of his wrist. He could slip out of Brienne’s twisted grip. If he wants to reject her teeth in his skin. The back of Jaime’s neck stings as he tries not to growl at her. Let her have this. She is so vulnerable right now. A modicum of control is all she needs. So he settles on top of her and lets Brienne’s teeth sink into his wrist. She won’t hurt him, won’t mark him. Brienne simply breathes him in once she works out some of the ache in her jaw. Jaime’s sympathizes. So he lies there with teeth poised at the blue veins under his skin, tongue tasting his slowing pulse. He trusts her.

When Brienne is done with him and pulls her mouth away, he asks, “Am I too heavy on you?”

Their hands still loosely clasp, but she could be done with him. It’s his choice to leave their carelessly tangled fingers. Jaime’s thumb once again brushes the soft spot between Brienne’s thumb and index. When she remains unmoving under him except to breathe, only then does Jaime draw away. Brienne’s arms curl up with haste, bundling tightly to her sides, fists under her chin. Just over her shoulder, Brienne peers at him with narrowed eyes. Jaime shuffles around to let her see him better. It rocks them together, but they flinch and hiss as one. The wet, fun part is over. Now it’s a matter of working hard flesh soft again so they can separate. Jaime shoots her a sheepish grin—oops—and Brienne’s head turns back towards the pillow. 

She sighs, deflates a little more under him.

And then elbows him.

“You can get up now.”

“There she is,” Jaime practically coos.

Instead of retreating, he picks up a gentle, swirling grind of his hips. It feels good for him too despite Brienne hissing and moaning. Her head is unclouded, desires once more restrained. Brienne needs space after being so close for so long. Jaime can’t take it personally no matter how it stings. She’s overstimulated. It’s up to Brienne to allow them to separate, though. To help that along, Jaime will lavish attention on her. Leaning all his weight on Brienne, Jaime nudges his hips slowly and eats up whatever fleeting expression she can’t control. He doesn’t miss the flutter Brienne’s sparkling blues fight. Or how she must bite the inside of her cheek to keep quiet while he toys with her. She’s not one to give into anyone or anything, though, and eventually levels a stern look at him. 

“Jaime,” she warns, voice rocky from moaning.

Jaime stills the movement of his hips, eyebrows flicking up with a sigh.

“That all depends on you, Ser.”

Jaime ignores the scoff under Brienne’s breath—stop talking like that, she’ll huff—and takes to petting up and down her sides. Something has to distract her from the uncomfortable weight and pressure. She always needs a distraction. Otherwise they’ll lie here for half an hour or more waiting for their knots to go down. The clinic is neutral territory, allows for that sort of thing. Brienne has to get back to bodyguarding Sansa. Sandor Clegane can’t cover for her forever. Work mode will slowly take over Brienne even while they’re still naked and open to each other. Something buzzes between them that’s too dangerous to touch but too alluring to keep away. Jaime doesn’t speak of it, has trouble admitting it to himself. It’s just… intimacy and passion fostering feelings of… familiarity. That’s how Tyrion had explained it to him. Not that the brothers believe that’s what this is. But it can’t be anything Tyrion is bold enough to allude to. Especially not now.

Mood beginning to over ripen and bruise, Jaime grumbles under his breath as he manhandles Brienne’s hips up. Just enough to squeeze his fingers under her and dig into her hipbones. She shrieks and breaks into a mad cackle, barking at him to stop, to get away. Her legs kick at him despite their awkward position, anything to get him to stop. Jaime grasps for that lightness between them. He chuckles through his grin as he rubs harder until she’s breathless with laughter. Brienne’s ears start to creep pink when she jolts, cuts off her next growl with a long moan. It’s pained at the end when she forces him out and instantly curls her legs up. Protecting herself, not that he would ever hurt her. His own groan from the release of pressure tangles with hers one last time. Jaime’s gut pangs to think maybe it’s the last-last time.

Body wobbling but knees sure, Jaime climbs off the bed. The linoleum floor is ice under his bare feet. Condom dealt with and hands washed, Jaime steps beside Brienne’s prone form. Thanks to her kneeling position over him earlier, strong thighs are tacky from her orgasm. It’ll be easier to clean up in a shower than try to get by with wet wipes. Maybe Brienne will finally take advantage of the showers across the hall.

Brushing a hand over her smooth back, Jaime murmurs, “Sorry about the mess. Take a shower before you go back.”

He lingers, desperate for her to look at him. Brienne’s need for space when they’re done hurts, but he knows it’s for the best. 

Brienne turns her head enough to peek through thin locks of her hair.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” He dares a hand in her hair, but the bunching of Brienne’s shoulders drives him away. Enough now.

She doesn’t deserve to hear this still tacky and sweaty. It’s a decent stall for time too while Jaime gathers the courage Brienne inspires in him and bolsters it against his resolve. He’s known for two months now that their arrangement is over. He just…

Temporarily alone, Jaime sighs with dirty sheets slumping on top of his shoes and holds his head in his hands. They’re still warm and soft from soap, so he rubs them over his face as much as he wants. He’d just wanted one more time, he supposes. That’s over now. Brienne will be back soon, tailored jeans and button-up shirt concealing her just as his red scrubs do. Head tipped back and his hair mussed, Jaime soaks up the smell of them together. In this interlude, he enjoys them unabashedly. Two alphas entwined, something she hadn’t thought possible before meeting him. Well, that it’s possible and feels good for her. He can’t bear to think what she’ll do after today, can’t stop the tightness in his jaw or the twitch in his upper lip. He doesn’t want anyone else to have her. That’s only part of the problem.

“Are you all right?”

The door is closed behind her. He hadn’t heard it, barely heard her soft voice just now. Humidity and mild soap still roll off her, fresh from the showers across the hall. Things are still tender between them despite their brief separation. Brienne isn’t annoyed with him yet, face not pinched in his direction yet. His heart must be beating over 100, pulse pounding in his cold fingertips. He doesn’t want this to be over, doesn’t want— 

“I have… something I need to tell you.”

What color flushes under Brienne’s fair skin drains. She flicks a wild glance over her shoulder to the door. She knows it’s soundproof, the whole room is, but he already knows what conclusion she jumps to.

“Did someone find out?”

When she whispers that, she somehow feels shorter than him. The back of Jaime’s neck tightens to the point of pain. He doesn’t need her distressed or pacing, gently takes Brienne by the arms and leads her to the fresh bed. Them resting their weight against it won’t be enough to force Jaime to change the sheet yet again. The next pair that enters this room will be too engrossed in each other to notice a passing pair of scents that shouldn’t be.

“No, gods no,” Jaime rushes out. “If I’d waited until now to tell you that, you’d go home to your little island and come back with one of those heirloom swords of yours and cut my head off. Or send Sansa after me, equally as frightening I’ll admit.”

The tension at Brienne’s jaw loosens, although only just. She stops glancing to the door every few breaths or so, too. She trusts him.

“Then what is it? You wouldn’t say it like that if it weren’t something serious, so out with it.”

Freshly fucked and already bossy. Jaime swallows his heart a few times and makes sure it stays put. He’s had two months to prepare for this moment. No more avoiding it.

“Another alpha here had an… accident with a patient of his. Normally, the clinic doesn’t keep track of who sees us and how often. They only take care to not double book us. And so one thing led to another and well… he ended up bonding with a patient. A patient he saw regularly.”

“Okay?” Brienne bites. 

A sigh huffs out his nose.

“So to prevent that from happening again and risking a lawsuit, the clinic is enforcing its non-exclusivity rule.”

A pause.

“It means I can’t be the only alpha to—”

“I know what ‘exclusivity’ means,” she snaps. When Jaime presses his lips flat and meets her stare, Brienne wrestles with words. “I just— I can’t do this with anyone else. That’s why we’re doing this in the first place.” She stands up, hands wringing so tightly over and over. “It’ll never work, I-I’ll just have to try the implant again. Or something else, I’ll figure it out, I’ll—”

Putting his hands on Brienne to calm her isn’t the best idea. She’s liable to snap those too-big teeth at him and growl at him. She’s no demure omega in the midst of a panic. It’s a risk the tightness in his neck says is worth it. Brienne’s distress drives him into the crosshairs of her frantic energy. While Jaime’s hands are gentle, light at her upper arms, Brienne’s long fingers gouge Jaime’s chest through his scrubs and undershirt. He sucks a breath through his teeth instead of snarling at her. Her pretty blues are panic wide as if he’d told her that yes, someone has found out about them. So Jaime takes a breath, squeeze’s Brienne’s arms, and then defers to her. He breaks their stare, turns his head so subtly. It’s easier if he’s the one to look away first.

“You don’t have to share your rut with anyone you don’t want to,” he explains just above a murmur. He flashes a glance up and away, her calmer breaths emboldening him after that rocky start. “No one is going to force you.”

“It can’t be anyone else,” she insists. 

Jaime won’t fool himself into thinking Brienne’s panic stems from some unrequited feelings. She trusts him. He performs with her this delicate balance of power and lust because there’s never been anyone before him. No one she could trust to let her guard down. Unbidden, green eyes glance up once more to find the scars at Brienne’s shoulder and neck. No, he supposes, it can’t be anyone else.

As he searches for some excuse, some plan—Tyrion is the master planner, damn it—Brienne beats him to it.

“What if we try… outside the clinic.”

It only takes a flick to meet Brienne’s imploring stare. ‘Don’t say no,’ the tension in her eyes, at the corners of her mouth beg him. ‘Please don’t tell me no.’ 

“That’s not what we agreed on.”

“I know.” Brienne chews it over, her weak chin shifting as she grinds her nerves between her teeth. Breathe, think. “I know you offered to treat me here to avoid territorial issues, and you know I’m thankful for that, but… it’s different, now.”

She always meets his eyes. Even for an alpha, she always meets his eyes. Jaime thinks he can count on one hand the times she’s looked away first. He’d let her win at the start of all this mess to teach her the balance of power. How to give and take. Now it just comes so naturally, deference to her. It’s no longer about her comfort. He trusts her.

“You think so?” he hushes “If you feel I’ve done something inappropriate or forced you—”

“You didn’t.”

Her defense comes without caveats. Absolute. Brienne rolls her lips flat while blinking slightly down at him. Her resolve is honest on her face, and he reads her thoughts broadcast in neon about their heads.

“You would never,” she confesses for him. At his chest, her hands have finally relaxed from clawing into him. She takes a step forward, takes his breath away when she looks down at the thin material separating them. “My feelings on it all are complicated. I leave here after we’re done feeling grateful that you do this for me but also… confused at times.”

Her hands twitch on him just as Jaime’s tighten on her. He can’t be foolish and hope this buzzing thing between them isn’t one-sided. Jaime’s heart looks before it leaps, trusting the earlier plea in Brienne’s eyes that she wants this, too.

“Have dinner with me,” he blurts and immediately winces.

A blink or two.

“… Why?”

“So we can discuss this in a better place when we’re both calm and thinking clearly. We don’t have to go out if you’re worried about leaving Sansa alone. My cooking isn’t lethal under pressure to impress. And you’ve proven yourself to be quite the chef cooking for Sansa’s little parties.”

A smile wants to wiggle onto Brienne’s face. He spies it at the corners of her pale lips, fighting against her fragile stoicism.

“This seems like a large step away from being just your patient.”

Jaime sighs, deflates a little. So much for shooting his shot.

“It was just a suggestion, we can—” 

“I’m not saying no.”

It’s his turn to blink in silence up at her. Brienne’s expressions are so honest. Jaime hopes the bubbling something—hope, maybe—just under his surface isn’t so obvious to her. Given the chance, she can fashion that polite tongue of hers into a knife. He can dish it out but can’t take it. 

“You’re not?” 

Brienne continues after a huff, relaxing more and more as their conversation wanders away from the reveal.

“I’ll miss our therapy sessions, I’ll admit. At this point, I could get along fine without them. My ruts though… I could go back to doing it alone,” she admits. “I’ve done it that way all my life and expected things to remain the same.”

“Rightfully so.”

Brienne gives him a short, quick nod. No use falling down that rabbit hole. She’d taken him down it once when he asked about her scars and stopped accepting her deflections. It was the first time she let him hold her, the first time she let someone take her weight. 

“But,” she begins again. Carefully tiptoeing the firm neutrality rule between them. A rule he thinks neither of them had expected to step around. How it’d happened… he still doesn’t understand. “But if I don’t have to, I would rather not.”

“Then you won’t.”

They tune into their hands on each other, grips cradling like lovers do. Too close, in each other’s breathing space despite the rut gone out of her. They flinch away as if caught. Jaime steps back to create more space for them and finally sucks down some air that isn’t Brienne.

“You won’t,” he repeats himself, firmly so she understands he’s serious. “Let’s have dinner Friday somewhere, your place, mine, I don’t care, and we’ll work out the details. New rules, if you want.”

“Do you want there to be rules?”

Jaime’s stomach flips like he’s missed a step going down. It’s pleasantly cool in this room, but not cool enough to raise the tawny hairs on his arms until it stings. No rules with Brienne would be too much. Too much risk, too much at stake if she doesn’t want the same thing as him. Tyrion is the master planner, but Jaime understands strategy just fine. If they don’t want to ruin this and jump into water way over their heads, they need rules. As much as Jaime would like to be rid of them.

Despite the glimmer in Brienne’s eyes as she waits, Jaime says softly, “There should still be rules. Just different ones that suit our new arrangement.”

The moment she shuts herself away a little, he’s torn. Even if it’s not what he wants, Jaime knows this is the right choice. To protect her. It’s the only reason he keeps her at arm’s length. He attaches too easily, had been doomed the moment he first spoke with her a year ago. Attachment isn’t something Brienne has ever mentioned or indicated she wanted. Jaime worries he can’t afford the rejection.

Before someone says anything heated, prides bruised a little but not nicked, Jaime offers, “Let’s wait until we meet again to figure everything out. Ser must be tired after all that rampageous activity you suffered me.”

His grin is wide and a little sleazy just to amuse her. It may still annoy her to some degree, but it earns him a snort from her. Distracting her from all this until she can be alone with her thoughts. Jaime wonders who will lose more sleep over the anticipation.

Gently shaking her head a few times, Brienne says, “Whenever you talk like that, it reminds me of people getting into the spirit of things at tourneys and reenactments. You’d fit right in.”

Jaime’s grin almost hurts when he asks, “Is that an invitation to come see you win with Oathkeeper?”

“Not if you’re going to talk like that the whole time,” she says with her hands on her hips.

The terrible, awful thing he’d been avoiding is over. Like someone has popped his cork, Jaime relaxes. There’s still the matter of laying down the groundwork of this new arrangement. But he hasn’t lost her or had to share her with someone else. Greedy, he doesn’t care how that sounds in his head. He takes Brienne’s hands as they stand by the door to the exam room, raked nerves smoothed over until next time. Because there will be a next time. 

Light as air and almost giddy, Jaime walks Brienne out the side door same as always. This is the lowest part for him. He never wants them to part, but they must. He has another appointment later today. She has a job to get back to. They’re not officially anything. He has to let her go for now. This is the first time it hasn’t hurt, though. It’s a huge relief to know this isn’t the last time. It means everything to Jaime that Brienne had been the one to suggest they continue. Outside the clinic, even. Getting his hopes up is dangerous. 

“Jaime?”

Standing in front of Brienne’s car, Jaime startles out of his thoughts. When he blinks back to reality, Jaime almost bumps his cheek into the pale curl of Brienne’s knuckles. Jaime startles once more, somehow manages not to fluster like he’s a schoolboy again. Brienne is just as quick to flinch away and gift him the sight of pink blooming pretty in her cheeks.

“Sorry, I’ll go. We’ll be in touch.”

“Just text me.”

Another line they haven’t crossed. May as well get that one out of the way. There’s nothing holding him back from texting Brienne whenever he wants, now. He’s come close a few times but has never given in to that weakness. 

Almost shy, Brienne says, “All right.” She lingers a moment more, grasping for something. She settles on, “Thank you, Jaime.”

This time, he doesn’t look away when he says, “Of course. What are friends for?”

He’ll carry the tang of ‘friend’ in his mouth until he sees her again. The lie tastes like copper.


	2. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime tags along with Tyrion to a business meeting with his recent divorcee client, Sansa Baratheon, né Stark. And her... interesting bodyguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place one year prior to the prologue. Drop a comment lol. Also fixed the incredibly embarrassing spelling mistakes, my gosh, I hope no one noticed LOL

Tyrion picks the cafe to meet with his client. Nice and open, quiet besides murmuring conversations and the clink of silverware. There’s split seating just for omegas, closer to the counter. It’s the perfect place to do business if you’re in the business of legally and physically sheltering abused, recently separated omegas. Jaime is aware of Sansa Baratheon, né Stark and her plight. Her story would be impossible for Jaime to avoid with his nephew’s name in all the papers, scandalous. There’s no one better prepared with an army of slippery lawyers and hulking bodyguards to set Sansa up with a new life than Tyrion. Jaime’s just curious how battered the poor girl is after five years. They stride right past the omega seating, though. Even if Jaime weren’t here, Tyrion wouldn’t seat them there. Tyrion leads them to the inclusive seating, although Jaime is the one to weave his hips between tables and pick the one all the way in the back. Tyrion snorts as Jaime claims the one seat with its back to a wall. He has the perfect view of the front door beyond the sunglasses still perched on his nose.

“You know we’re inside, right?”

Jaime ignores the attempt at mocking and nods his head to some people walking in.

“Is that them? I remember the Stark girl being a redhead.”

Well, né Stark until she sheds the Baratheon name. That will be final in a few days, nothing his mad, cruel nephew can do to stop it now. Jaime had met Sansa at the wedding, stomach curling in sympathy at the vacant expression on her face at the altar. Five years of agony finally over. Tyrion had offered Jaime the gold cloaks’ report on it all, to familiarize himself with the details. Probably so he won’t say something insensitive and cause a scene. He’s only here because Tyrion invited him. And maybe for the gossip. Nothing Joffrey could have done to Sansa would surprise Jaime.

“Yes, she still is, and no, that’s not them.” Tyrion sighs before leveling a curious look at him. “Shall I get you a fidget toy of some sort to keep you occupied? She’s meeting me here for something important, this isn’t Sunday brunch.”

“Haha, yes, very funny,” he says all while palming his phone out of his pocket on reflex.

He’s been careful to avoid any news stories of the high-profile divorce. The less he knows about the madness that seems to spread amongst his family, the better. In recent years, he’s begun to think only himself and Tyrion have been spared. Even Cersei’s younger children are… strange.

“On the way here, you said something about Joffrey harassing her and stalking her, sending threatening messages and the like. I assume you’ve come up with some plan to stop that? A piece of paper and ink won’t stop him, you know that.”

“Already taken care of,” Tyrion groans as he swings himself off his chair and back to the floor. “I’m actually curious to see what you think of her, when you see her.”

He walks away on the heels of Jaime’s, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clearly this morsel of information Tyrion dangles in front of him is all for his younger brother’s amusement. He’s a Lannister, of course, mind games are not beyond him because of his stature or presentation. Still, Jaime’s frown and narrowed stare follow Tyrion all the way to the queue for the bakery counter. Out of the three Lannister children, he is the least threatening, the least imposing. The beta child amongst two alphas. He chats with a skittish omega in line behind him long enough to draw a laugh out of the frazzled creature.

Of course Tyrion would be the one to help Sansa make her escape. The only one with enough power and pull to assure the divorce goes smoothly and that Sansa isn’t left with nothing. He’s done it time and time again for other abused omegas. It’s noble, Jaime thinks, although he bets Tyrion would laugh and wave that away. Tyrion’s services aren’t free, after all. It costs a pretty pile of dragons to cut ties as thick as these. To uproot the omegas in secrecy, find new housing and new lives for them. Sansa is a special case, closer to home, but Jaime has heard it all before.

Glancing down to his phone for the distraction it offers, Jaime thinks Tyrion had been the only one to try and stop the wedding all together. Still, that leaves the matter of Sansa’s protection, but Jaime doesn’t doubt for a moment Tyrion has that handled, believes his brief assurance. He looks up in time to watch Tyrion nudge his chair farther away from the table and set down coffee and a muffin on a plate.

“Sansa is just around the corner. You should have enough time to get something if you’re hungry.”

Jaime waits long enough for Tyrion to settle himself back in the chair before pilfering some of the soft muffin top. It’s lemon poppy, and Jaime knows he’ll be digging tiny seeds out of his teeth for the next hour or so.

“So… how are things going with the clinic?”

Jaime shrugs.

“Fine.”

“… Just ‘fine’ then?”

For that, Jaime steals more muffin top, talks with his mouth full, “Would you like me to regale you with lewd tales of omegas pawing at me and making a mess? I have plenty of them.”

“No, I think I’ll pass on that,” Tyrion says carefully, although he hasn’t stopped watching Jaime with those mismatched eyes of his. He looks away respectfully when Jaime holds their stare. “Although I don’t know how you and the other alphas do it. I think I’d grow attached too easily, but I only hear good things about that clinic. It comes highly recommended amongst the omega divorcees I deal with.”

Jaime can’t help the pinch of his mouth.

“You’re not about to send Miss Stark my way, are you? She’s had quite enough of my type.”

As Tyrion murmurs something about conflict of interest, a broad form blocking the cafe’s front door draws Jaime’s bored gaze. He eyes a giantess of a woman playing guard to perhaps the meekest girl Jaime has ever seen. Without the woman’s bulk behind her, Jaime thinks the little mouse would back right out of the cafe and leave. Skittish. Straight from the pages of folklore, a nervous princess and her chivalrous knight.

It’s enough to get Jaime to hook a finger on the frames of his sunglasses and pull them down to see the pair better. It gives his interest away to Tyrion, who twists around to see. Before Tyrion confirms it, somehow Jaime knows this is Sansa and the mystery person his brother had teased earlier. Five years of tyranny and mental anguish have aged Sansa since her wedding. She’s younger than the two brothers, although Jaime suspects she may be just as jaded as them, now. He’s not interested in her anyway. The trailing guard dog behind her, though…

Tyrion leaves once more to greet Sansa and her protector near the quaint display of baked goods. Jaime hums, removes his sunglasses all together, and leans his forearms on the table to get a better look. Damn tall and broad to match, even dressed neatly in jeans and a black turtleneck, she would stand out. Squinting, he can’t quite tell if the woman’s cautious way about her—careful glances, keeping herself between Sansa and everyone but Tyrion—is out of friendliness or something else. She’s not close enough for Jaime to pick up a scent no matter how he turns his straight nose up.

Thanks to Cersei, a female alpha isn’t such a rare sight to him. There’s no one else like Cersei, though, so his comparable options are just as limited as everyone else. When the woman speaks, it’s brief with quick nods of her head. Not exactly rude, just straight to the point. She’s too busy glancing at every other patron in the cafe. Searching for a threat. Jaime sits up taller, recognizes that nervous habit for what it is. It’s why he’s claimed this chair against the wall. No one can sneak up on him like this, and he has control of the room.

She spies him then. Jaime holds her stare. When her face pinches the longer Jaime doesn’t back down, he cannot help the grin that tugs at his lips. Very interesting…

As Tyrion leads them towards the table, Jaime smoothes over his grin when Sansa hesitates. If she recognizes him, it provides her no confidence. She stops short quickly enough to make her guardian almost stumble into her back. A large hand, although not oafish or ugly, cradles Sansa’s narrow shoulder. It’s all right, the touch says. At that moment, Jaime chooses to remain seated. No use in towering over the poor girl. He makes no move to touch Sansa either as her protector pulls a chair out for her before regarding him with a thin glance. It takes barely a breath for Tyrion to pick up on the tension. It’s his meeting with a client. Let him make the introductions and excuses.

“Oh, ah, I hope you don’t mind my brother tagging along. Extra muscle can’t hurt. Sansa, this is—”

“We met at her wedding, Tyrion, don’t be so formal.” Now Jaime leans forward on the table and offers Sansa a flick of a smile. “Hello again, Miss Stark. Was the traffic bad? Did you find a place to park easily enough?”

He takes care to keep his posture open, unassuming. He blinks somewhere near the collar of Sansa’s blouse rather than embarrass her with a game of cat and mouse. Where’s the fun in dominance games with a skittish, abused omega? Nowhere. Unlike her company who has yet to sit, won’t even unclench her hulking fists at her side. Jaime won’t spare this one, lifts his head to look her up and down.

“You really are an alpha. Don’t see that everyday.”

Jaime can’t help himself, can’t stop the quip that’s almost as impulsive as breathing. A spike of glee pierces him when the giant woman’s face pinches impossibly harder, teeth surely grinding behind those pale lips of hers. Seven, she’s a sight, and he wouldn’t mind seeing how far he can twist her before she’s the one making a scene. Usually that’s his job.

Sansa reaches slightly behind her before he can do more than play with that idea. At the gentle pressure of Sansa’s hand on her arm, some tension leaks out of the other alpha.

“Brienne, I changed my mind, I’d like something to drink.”

Under Jaime’s amused stare, lips pursed to keep his grin at bay, Brienne still refuses to back down. She waves away Sansa digging in her purse still slung across her chest. All while watching him.

“I have money, don’t worry about it.”

And yet she makes no move towards the queue, rooted to the worn hardwood just beside Sansa’s chair.

“It’s all right,” Jaime drawls, flicking his hand towards the counter. “Neutral territory and all that. She’s safer here than practically anywhere else.”

It takes Sansa’s quiet, “Really, it’s okay, I’ll be fine,” to unseat Brienne’s rigid stance. Not without her withering glare keeping tabs on Jaime even as she waits her turn at the register. 

Jaime rests his chin on the back of his head and wiggles his fingers at Brienne’s hard stare. He can practically feel the bullish huff that blows out her nose, wants to grin at the way she rolls her eyes.

“Jaime,” Tyrion admonishes quietly. “Please be civil.”

To Tyrion on his left, he says, “I’m being the most civil I can be and you know it.” To Sansa at his right, “Where ever did you find that one? If it weren’t for my sister, I could possibly claim to have never met a female alpha. Or at least not one so wooden as her.”

Sansa must still have some spine in her. That and she’s still her mother’s daughter no matter who she’d married. Some ice slips into her blue eyes as she regards him cooly.

“Her name is Brienne. She’s my bodyguard and the one who helped me leave Joffrey.”

“It’s that bad you need a bodyguard, hmm?”

He knows Sansa is looking somewhere near his chin. Jaime relaxes in his chair and tugs Tyrion’s muffin the rest of the way over, claiming it for himself. Sansa takes a deep breath and finally relaxes some, too. If her five years with Joffrey have taught her anything it’s to avoid lowering herself to another person’s level. It tickles him when she clears her throat and tries for a smile.

“Thankfully not yet, but when Brienne offered, I couldn’t say no. Not after everything she did for me. I owe her my life, and I mean that.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Jaime murmurs to himself more than to anyone.

He lets the topic wither and die after that. Tyrion nudges his coffee towards Jaime to make room for papers in his briefcase. With Brienne gone, Tyrion helps himself to the chair across from Jaime so he and Sansa can read together. They take up half the table leafing over pages, Tyrion explaining things too uninteresting to listen to. Something about an apartment in a private community, a name change. He’s back to watching the other alpha—Brienne, wonder what her lineage is, he’ll need a family name—while she waits for her order. He’s not the only one watching. Narrowed blues make their rounds of the cafe again, checking and rechecking, before settling on him. It strokes his ego that Brienne thinks of him as the sole threat in the room. Surely there’s another alpha in here somewhere. But they’re not the one she’s staring down like the tip of a knife pointed in his face. 

That glinting edge remains when Brienne returns with whatever she’s ordered for Sansa. Besides a quick thanks and a sip, Sansa focuses on the task at hand. Which suits Jaime’s and Brienne’s staring contest just fine—at least he thinks so. She just won’t yield! He has to swallow down a chuckle once or twice. Normally alphas like this are obnoxious and need an attitude adjustment. Brienne’s stubbornness is amusing. Or at least he takes it for stubbornness at first. Makes sense to him: giant, strange looking woman already otherized because of those qualities only to be fully cast out thanks to the hormones in her and what she’s got between her legs. He wonders who the last straw had been. Who’d been the last lash on her back to finally make her grow thicker skin? 

But the longer Sansa and Tyrion’s conversation goes on, the less Jaime thinks this is the case. Brienne doesn’t posture the way he expects, trying to establish some sort of order between them. Brienne never once relaxes in her seat across from Sansa. It’s either glare at Jaime until he looks away or inspect the other patrons in the cafe again. She doesn’t quite fidget but keeps trying to subtly wipe the sweat off her upper lip. It’s not stuffy in here, so Jaime leans forward in a casual, notice-me-not way and tries to pick up a scent. Without her catching him, of course. He’s successful until she tenses like a bowstring about to pop. She’s already holding her breath when Jaime meets her eyes. Her flush is rather splotchy, he thinks, but not wholly unflattering.

Beside her, Sansa pauses mid-sentence and asks softly, “Are you all right?”

All eyes on Brienne, Jaime wonders what she’ll do. So many options, so many excuses she could make. Maybe Sansa and Tyrion can’t pin-point the muffled tang in the air. It’s the modern age; what alpha walks around without blockers? That’s not quite right either, though. She doesn’t smell or look like she’s ready to jump someone. No, it’s just the leading edge of a storm that will run out of steam. Maybe an implant losing its potency? Maybe a pill at the wrong dosage?

“It can take the body weeks to adjust to a new blocker, if you’ve switched recently.”

Tyrion shoots him a puzzled frown, but Jaime is all eyes on the way Brienne’s face closes off completely. Not before he catches the grimace in her mouth. Ah, he’s found her out. Even if that’s not the exact truth, there’s something wrong with whatever she’s taking to regulate herself. She’s lucky she doesn’t fog up the room even more. The thought must occur to them at the same time, that maybe fresh air will do her some good. Brienne stands ram-rod straight up from the chair and nearly sends it slamming to the floor. Her quick hand striking out to snatch the backrest saves them the commotion.

“I’m fine, I just need a minute.”

Sansa twitches as if to rise. As if to step away with Brienne, wherever she intends to excuse herself. Which will only prolong this little soirée of theirs.

“We’re in a public place, untwist your knickers for a second and let her live a little, will you?” Jaime waves Brienne away despite the way her lips roll flat and she exhales hard through her nose. So bullish. “Joffrey can’t touch her here, go outside before you get everyone in a tizzy.”

Tyrion’s forehead makes a rather satisfying smack when he drops it into his open palm. Sansa’s thin eyebrows come together as if he’s mixed the Common Tongue with some long-forgotten squawking. Brienne is best of all when the tendons in her neck spring taut. Yes, fight back, Jaime almost wants to say. She won’t back down, won’t yield in their slight power play. Will she finally snap? Jaime sits up that much straighter, tries to resist his ego’s suggestion that he lift his chin, come at me.

Brienne manages to suck down a deep breath through her nose, not a great idea in her condition, and exhales with that same restraint drawing the air out in a soft hiss. Just like that, she wipes clean the tension from the gameboard between them. Resetting it. It feels like cheating, although Jaime cannot find it in him to be upset or disappointed. Teasing her is just too fun.

“Stay here,” she growls directly at him once she gathers herself. “Don’t leave the table.”

Fist over his heart, Jaime tips his head and mocks softly, “Your wish is my command, my lady.”

It’s enough to draw a scoff out of her, but she doesn’t rise to him this time. He’s upset her in some way. Normally that feels good, pushing buttons until they fail. It vaguely feels good until the low conversation between Tyrion and Sansa starts up again, leaving Jaime’s attention to wander. He catches himself staring into the middleground to avoid blinking at Brienne’s empty seat and letting something silly like regret slither into him. Pursing his lips and sighing, Jaime lifts his head to stare out the windows that wrap around the cafe. People watching will only distract him for so long. But maybe he’ll catch a near-miss accident or some other microcosm falling into chaos just outside.

What he finds is Brienne speed walking across the intersection once the light changes for pedestrians. She makes a beeline for the park. A more pleasant place to calm herself than on the sidewalk, bumping shoulders with strangers.

Chair legs scraping when he stands, Jaime says over the noise, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Tyrion calling after him barely tickles the shell of his ear before he’s across the cafe and out the door. The street looks clear when Jaime glances left and right, so he dashes into traffic instead of waiting. His house keys jingle in his pocket as he sprints up a little hill blocking the view of the park proper from the cafe’s windows. Rolling green spills down the hillside to flatten out, giving way to a walkway ringing a pond. In the shade of a tree, he finds Brienne collapsed on a bench, head bent back with her splotchy flush darkening. At one moment Jaime is at the crest of the hill. The next the trough, and then at her feet.

“I’d offer you a cigarette if I still smoked.”

She jolts like a shock at the first word that leaves his mouth. Jaime just talks right over Brienne jerking forward to sit up straight, irritation swift to pinch her pink face.

“What the hell are you doing out here? Who is watching over Sansa if you’re here?”

“They’re fine, they’re in a public place! Even if Joffrey were crazy enough to, what, send someone after her? They couldn’t—”

Brienne jumps up and shoves past Jaime, spitting, “He’s already done that, you fool, get out of the way.”

Hand and mouth acting at the same time, Jaime barks, “Wait,” as he scrambles at the back of Brienne’s sweater to stop her.

It takes Brienne’s left hook circling around and jabbing him in the side for Jaime to figure out his mistake. Breath threatening to leave him high and dry, Jaime stumbles back with a hand flying up to cradle the tender ache blossoming under his shirt.

“You’re a loose canon, you know that?” he hisses. He can’t quite stand up straight even as Brienne squares up in front of him. “Shit, you really are a bodyguard.”

“And I can’t exactly guard her body if I can’t be near it, now can I?”

Jaime winces when he forces himself up straight, grunting, “Fair point.” Through his grimace, he meets her blue eyes so wide above the angry flare of her nose. She’s wild. “Why don’t you ever yield?”

That snaps Brienne out of her glare. Confusion softens it, although it’s still stern.

“I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to Sansa.”

She spins around before he gets another question fired off. It takes Jaime a few hops to catch up to her at a fast walk, still having to take another hop here and there to keep up with her longer legs… Fuck, she’s taller than him. It’s the first time they’ve been close enough for him to tell.

“It’s a simple question, really. What, you walk around staring down any other alphas you meet? Never deferring to anyone, even your equal? That’s insane.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The way she huffs and the desperation in her voice are what make him believe her. She’s too straight forward, face too honest to lie. Jaime lags behind for a stride or two but catches up with Brienne at the crosswalk, a hundred new thoughts brawling for his voice.

Leaning up on his toes, Jaime huffs in her ear, “How do you not know about all this? Were you raised by a pair of nose-blind betas or something?”

Brienne sucks a breath through her teeth and steps off the curb. The light hasn’t changed yet. Jaime's quick fingers in the belt loops of her jeans yank her out of the path of a car running the yellow. Jaime’s side complains at the unexpected lurch, but he only steps back when he’s spun Brienne around to stop her from plowing straight into traffic again. When the crosswalk turns for the pedestrians, she stays put with her back to the pole for the signal.

“Must be an unpleasant story if you’d rather be hit by a car than share it.” Jaime sighs and stops palming the bruise surely forming from Brienne’s fist. Miraculously, her eyes actually stray from his to glance at the same spot. Like only now is she aware that she’d punched him.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, meaning it in that one word when some people would carry on about it. “I’m not good around other alphas. I don’t work for them and I don’t usually encounter them unless they’re a threat to my client.”

Strangers walking past and cafe forgotten, Jaime says with a grin in his voice, “You must be incredible to watch in a fight. They probably don’t know what to make of you or where to start.”

“The element of surprise is always on my side.”

His insides do _not_ flip at her volley back instead of scoffing at him. Jaime glances all over her once more, appreciating her in a new way. No gun belt at her hip breaks up Brienne’s wide silhouette and no bulge under her left arm gives away any sort of holster. She’s a solid rock for sure. Fists aren’t everything, though.

“No gun?”

“I try to avoid them if I can.”

A honeyed eyebrow flicks up.

“So what do you use?”

“Usually a dagger that’s belonged to my family for ages now. But the sight of weapons, especially blades, stresses Sansa out. So I’m stuck with a smaller knife at my ankle. It’s better than nothing in an emergency, although weapon improvisation isn’t just for movies and cartoons.”

“Thanks for not using any of that on me,” he hums with a smile, leaning into her again. He only notices when Brienne’s mouth tenses up. “Anyway… before we go back, tell me what’s wrong with the blockers you’re using. I work at a heat clinic, know some physicians who could recommend rut blockers too.”

“I’m fine,” she insists. “I’m just not used to living with Sansa yet. She’s… more than I’m used to, and I only take omega clients.”

“Not a great idea for you to dull your senses anyway. But it’s so risky. You know if you end up fucking her on accident—”

“I would never!”

Brienne leans into him now, although not for any good reason. Her glare leads her fury as Jaime almost stumbles back a step. Almost. He’s yielded for the better part of a fucking hour now, and he won’t do it once more. They stand chest-to-chest on the middle of the sidewalk and breathe hard together.

“It’s not just omegas that get pent up, Brienne. Alphas need release, too.”

“Shut up,” she growls.

“They have clinics for our kind, you know. They have all types if you need control that badly. Someone you can hold down.”

“I said stop.”

“Or they can hold you down instead, if that’s what you really want. Is that it? Ashamed you want to be taken care of, too?”

Their fists are at the collars of each other’s shirts, about to snarl at each other. Years have passed since he’s been this keyed up. The sidewalk and people and traffic disappear. For a moment, it’s just them so close, knees jostling as they fight even for balance. Jaime can’t see anything but his own reflection in her eyes.

Blood roaring in Jaime’s ears almost drowns out Sansa’s voice calling for her bodyguard. It’s only by the grace of the red light and traffic paused he hears her at all.

“Brienne?”

Jaime cranes his head around Brienne’s upper arm just as Brienne twists towards Sansa’s voice, too. Now would probably be a good time to stop clutching each other like wild animals. Before Tyrion sees him acting like a teenager over some woman he’s just met. And before Sansa’s delicate concern curdles into something more suspicious. She’s a smart girl, had to be to survive. So Jaime sighs and untangles his fingers from Brienne’s sweater.

“You should think about it, though,” he says only for her just before the crosswalk changes. “Mull it over.”

“Mull this over.”

Brienne’s hand mushing him away by his chest ends the conversation for good. Jaime rocks on his feet to catch himself. The crosswalk blinks down from five as she marches across to leave him on the other side.

Push and pull with her but never bending, how interesting. For the moment, Jaime keeps his thoughts to himself. They’re done tussling in the park like a pair of dogs that don’t quite know when to quit. The meeting must be over, because besides saying their goodbyes to Tyrion, Brienne spirits Sansa away. Not a word or a glance. Before Jaime even reaches the cafe again, Brienne’s broad back is around the corner and out of sight. He’s not sure how to feel about such a dismissal. Like all the play had truly gone out of Brienne at Sansa’s interruption. She is on a job, after all. Jaime settles for that and tries not to wonder how she’d act off duty.

Level with Jaime’s thigh, Tyrion clears his throat and is ready to meet green eyes with a thick brow arched high.

“What? I was being civil.”

“I’m sure.” Tyrion nudges Jaime out of the way, both of them blocking the cafe’s front door. It’s time to go anyway, and Jaime leads their march back to Tyrion’s car. “So what did you think of Brienne?”

Complicated. Wild. When can he have some more?

“She was interesting. You knew I wouldn’t be surprised at what she is, so why are you so keen on what I think?”

They weave around a dog walker with maybe one too many pooches, all of them tangled in a mess about their ankles. Jaime slows down only until Tyrion shoos the friendly creatures away. 

“Brienne works for me, I know how she is. You handled yourself pretty well for how oblivious she is. Just and loyal, but oblivious.” When Jaime hums, still walking fast, Tyrion drops it. “I’ll be meeting again with Sansa in a week. We should have everything set up for her then and be ready to move her into her new apartment.”

“How much does she have to move?”

Tyrion doesn’t miss a step beside Jaime, but hesitates with, “A small storage unit?”

“Don’t bother hiring movers. It’s plenty for me and the bodyguard to handle. Expense it to me in wine from Highgarden.”

They reach a crosswalk and have to wait when Tyrion teases him, “I’ve not known you to be generous with strangers, brother.”

“Call it an act of charity.”

“Mmm, a curious act, for sure.”

Jaime doesn’t rise to that, instead marches ahead and curses, “Where the hell did you park the car?”


	3. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne gives up the lonely tale of her childhood, and Jaime makes a proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Monday, my dudes. Thanks to all for the (to me) LARGE response to this fic! I misunderstood the lack of ABO content for this ship. It's not that y'all don't _want_ it, it's that nobody is really writing it haha. I'll happily fill that role lol. A special welcome and thank you to newcomers of the trope!
> 
> We get the ball rolling on ABO dynamics and such next chapter. See you next Monday, maybe drop a comment ~~maybe hit up my tumblr/twitter, since I'm working on the next fic and sometimes I talk about J &B~~

Sansa’s new apartment is dark, empty except for cardboard boxes haphazardly arranged. The furniture is all where it belongs except for a bookcase. Below in the carpark, irritated voices bounce hollow and metallic off the inside of a moving truck.

“I’ve got the bottom just fine, just pick it up on three.”

“But that’s what you said the last time.”

“On three, damn it!”

If Jaime could turn the clock back a week, grab himself outside that cafe, and shake that Jaime a little, he would. Helping people move is a thankless act. He knows that. He’d done it out of selfish curiosity rather than out of goodwill towards Sansa. So this is probably what he deserves. At least more hands make less work all around. Not that either of them would let Sansa help even if she were here. It’s Tyrion’s job to distract her. Tyrion and his own bodyguard Bronn, of course. One, small blessing. Fewer eyes on them as they squabble over every little thing. They’re almost done, down to the furniture that had been loaded first thing at the storage unit. All this strife because of curiosity. A hot shower and a stiff drink are in short order once he’s done. Brienne can return the truck herself.

When Jaime collapses on Sansa’s new couch, limbs splayed out as much as the upright pose allows, Brienne says nothing. She takes the house keys lying on the kitchen table, locks him inside, and disappears for some time. Jaime isn’t keeping track, focuses instead on the itchy sensation of sweat drying on his skin for the last time. A genuine groan punches out of him the first time he tries to sit up from that spread-eagle position. He laughs quietly to himself in the empty apartment, making note that no, he is no longer a young man. Big hands gripping the small of his own back, Jaime rubs at the irritating ache. That’s never been a problem before. Just another poke to his ego along with the grey in his beard, at his hairline. But he’ll live. 

Alone with his thoughts, they turn towards Jaime’s fellow alpha. Brienne will be home alone downstairs until the cameras and security system are ready. Then Sansa can begin settling in, nest to her heart’s content. Brienne practically living with Sansa is overkill, if you ask him. Just give Sansa a gun and tell her not to point it at someone unless she plans to use it. Let her take control of her life. The moment Brienne had explained the plan—almost an hour into Jaime chattering in her ear about anything that would get a rise out of her—he saved this criticism for himself. Making light of her job and duties shuts Brienne down in a way that tries to conjure up that tricky sense of remorse in him. Jaime isn’t fond of it and privately marks Brienne’s job as off-limits for his teasing. Although everything else about her is still fair game.

Brienne returns just as quietly as she’d left. Without needing her explicit instructions, Jaime hasn’t left the apartment. He flicked the living room light on when it got dark, dunked his mouth under the kitchen faucet for a drink. Otherwise, he hasn’t moved. Not even to snoop, which had been difficult to resist. Everything in Sansa’s apartment smells new or neutral. None of these items are from the Baratheon estate, and so Jaime gleams nothing from any of it. Brienne’s belongings already inhabit the downstairs unit, apparently. Jaime would have loved to poke his nose around Brienne’s things. Personal effects say everything about their owners.

Still sporting the same t-shirt and sweatpants, Brienne has a rather impressive set of scars about her neck. He hadn’t noticed them a week ago with that black turtleneck covering her. One is a thin, menacing line from ear to ear. The other peeks out of the stretched collar: a mess of pale lines at the crook of her neck, spilling onto her shoulder out of view. Like she’d been mauled or something. The scars are almost the same color as her moonlight skin. Faded with time and healed with great attention. Not once has she reached for them to rub at some real or phantom pain. They must not bother her, although she’s glared every time she caught Jaime staring. All day he’d left that topic untouched. Now they can chat, get to know one another better.

“You can go now, everything’s sorted.”

Jaime isn’t even surprised. He jerks his head towards the stump of a hallway, to the bathroom on the right.

“Go take a shower. I’ll stand guard while you’re indisposed.”

Sometimes he catches her off guard. Like now—Jaime’s offer pinches the spark of Brienne’s irritation and snuffs it right out. Or when he knows he’s about to push her too far and so starts teasing her from a different direction. Sure, it only resets her and then winds her up again. But Jaime confuses Brienne in those moments where she can’t match up the puzzle pieces of his words to her previous experiences with him. It’s not all vulgarity and mockery, but it’s what she’s come to expect. Him taking her job seriously after their tussle in the park jars her just as much. As if he’s incapable of being serious. Yet here he is, quite contrary.

Jaime nods once more, says lightly, “Go on, my lady, I know you’ll jump out and peek in here at any strange noise you hear. You’ll never get clean that way, and there’s so much of you to scrub.”

No scoff or murmur under her breath. Brienne must be just as tired as him when she just softly shakes her head and turns away. Doing as he says. Brienne locks him in the apartment when she leaves, although Jaime’s sharp ears pick up the front door below opening and shutting. Makes sense for her to shower in her own home. Jaime would have appreciated an invite to said abode, so he huffs and throws himself down on Sansa’s couch to wait Brienne out.

Arm thrown over his tired eyes, it takes Jaime an embarrassing amount of time to pick up on Brienne following his order. More a suggestion really, but even she hadn’t noticed it. During their hours together, of course Brienne had to yield at some point. Although if she were typical, that would have saved them spitting and hissing at each other over inconsequential things. Who would be leading when carrying something heavy, where to set boxes down, bickering when either of them needed a break going up and down the stairs. They were all yields out of necessity rather than mutual respect. Jaime’s confused irritation over the matter is long gone now that he knows she just doesn’t understand the nuance, full stop. He’ll whittle the truth out of her on that eventually. 

He starts on her the moment Brienne appears with damp hair and fresh clothes. Green eyes do a double take at her floral-print leggings and obvious sleep shirt. Obvious because across her chest is printed in cursive script, rather cheeky, ‘Born tired.’

Jaime doesn’t let Brienne’s casual appearance trip him up, though. He pops up on Sansa’s couch, says with a grin, “You did something very funny earlier, and you’re not even aware of it.” When all that earns him is a thin stare, Jaime adds, “You didn’t fight me when I told you to take a shower. You just did it, like you’re supposed to.”

“Not this again,” Brienne sighs from under the hand currently rubbing her face. Like if she leaves her hand there he’ll vanish, out of sight out of mind. “You can definitely leave now, thank you.”

“Tell me where you grew up, where you went to school.”

“It’s not important.”

“Okay, then tell me how you got those scars. There’s definitely a story behind them.”

Brienne advances on him between stacked boxes, stopping just out of kicking range. Oh, she’s clever!

“You are the most nosy, insufferable person I’ve ever met. Would it kill you to just mind your business and leave?”

Jaime shrugs, looks up at her through strands of his hair still stuck together from dry sweat. The angle really does change her whole appearance. She is wholly intimidating when she towers over him like this, raises the hairs on the back of his neck when she just grimaces harder. Jaime should let it go and end this flight of fancy.

“I don’t think it would kill me, no, but leaving definitely won’t make me stop thinking about it. I could draw my own conclusions, if you’d like. Although I’ve heard that truth is often stranger than fiction.”

Jaime’s imagination will start at the ludicrous end of the spectrum or the lewd end, and she’s not fond of either when he talks about her. 

Great, big exhale blowing out her nose, Brienne stops leaning toward Jaime and instead crosses her arms over her chest. He wishes she would sit. There’s plenty of room on the couch next to him.

“I grew up on the island of Tarth until I started school. My family has called the island home since the Targaryen house was made of real people and not just legends in history books.”

“Ah, the Sapphire Isle,” he sighs, a wealth of knowledge of old Westerosi lineages fluttering into his mind like birds crowding for a perch on a powerline. “The stormlands island known for its abundance of water more than for anything close to a sapphire. Peaceful most of the time in our long, shared history of bloodshed and squabbling for who rules this and who owns that. Although typically aligned itself with Storm’s End.” Jaime leans his elbows into his thighs to close some of the distance between them. Brienne remains wooden in her stance. “Do you claim lineage to Ser Galladon of Morne like others from Tarth? Or maybe Ser Duncan the Tall? If I remember my history lessons correctly, I think there were always legends of giants in the Red Mountains just to the southeast…”

“I’m not that much taller than you,” Brienne huffs. 

“You’re still a lot of woman.” Jaime doesn’t spare her a long glance up and down, can’t help himself. “So let's see, you left the island when you were school aged… Storm’s End is closer, more affordable for boarding school. But there would have been more opportunities at King’s Landing. Me thinks you ended up in the former, given your utter ignorance for something that you should have learned when you were a child.”

“Correct. You got what you wanted, now leave.”

No, there’s something else. She waves this morsel in front of him hoping he’ll take it and run. It’s not enough.

“What happened at school?” he asks almost softly. “The other alpha girls didn’t want to make friends? Didn’t want to include you in their play fighting and posturing? Or did the hazing never really end once you arrived and that’s how you ended up so aggressive and disagreeable?”

Brienne drops her arms from her chest. The tightness in her jaw draws Jaime’s mocking to a quiet halt, and he holds his breath as they stare each other down.

“I attended a girls-only boarding school, yes. It was an inclusive institution, but I was the only alpha.”

Jaime sits up straight, blinks at her a few times with his eyebrows pinched together in the middle.

“How could you be the only alpha? And what, they just? Stuck you in the same behavior classes as the betas?”

“Probably because any other family would know better than try to send their alpha child to school in the first place.” Brienne grinds a frustrated noise between her teeth. She has a point; Jaime and Cersei had been homeschooled, although not because they’re alphas.

When Jaime sits there, waiting, Brienne closes her eyes to smooth the expression away. She’s carefully blank the next time blue eyes open. Far away, almost.

“My mother died when I was still a baby, and my father was in no state of health to raise me. It was the only choice he had.” Her round chin juts out as she firms up her jaw, unafraid. “He died in the middle of term. They wouldn’t let me go home, saying it wasn’t safe to send me on my own. I was barely fourteen.”

Springs in the couch’s backrest whine when Jaime relaxes, bouncing slightly. His glance turning down is out of bewilderment and respect. In all his imaginings, he’d never thought Brienne suffered in the opposite way. It’s true neglect rather than bullying. Children can be so cruel. Growing up, Jaime had defended Tyrion again and again from such cruelty. He’d thought perhaps that Brienne’s suffering springs from the same source. She is even more otherized than he previously thought. Jaime reaches up a hand to rub across his mouth at first, then scratches the scuff at his jaw, and finally relaxes once more.

“Brienne, I… I didn’t know.”

“And now you do. And yes, I attended the same behavior classes as the betas.”

“Makes sense,” Jaime says with a twitch of his eyebrows. “King’s Landing would have been a better fit for you. They have specialized schools there.”

She frowns, counters, “Says who? By your accounts, you expected the other alphas to abuse me. It could have turned out just as badly or worse.”

“True enough, my dear, true enough. Have you ever given any thought to learning it now, though? What you should have been taught in school about us?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way I am.”

Jaime understands Brienne’s defensiveness immediately, is quick to amend, “My criticism isn’t on your character, Brienne, it’s on your communication skills. You’re right, there’s nothing wrong with you as a person. This isn’t an ideal world, though, and the soreness in my side bears witness to that lack of skill. You can’t get into staring contests and come to blows with every alpha you meet.”

Brienne grabs herself by the hips this time and bites, “Most alphas don’t purposefully provoke me like you do. And the ones who do are often threats anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Jaime rockets to his feet before he knows what he’s doing, steps into Brienne’s space just as he insists, “It would make your life easier if you knew how to control yourself. Think about Sansa.”

It’s a risk, involving her job in this conversation. It’s off limits, isn’t it? Jaime spies the moment Brienne’s shoulders hunch up, chin almost tucking down even though he’s shorter than her.

“If you had some normal interactions with our kind, you could create a safer environment for Sansa,” Jaime explains, scrambling to stop Brienne from closing off. “And by proxy if you were taught how to be around omegas, then you wouldn’t have that little problem of yours.”

She allows the slight ribbing only because he isn’t vulgar, he’s sure. Jaime has nothing to gain from telling Brienne this, no stake in her personal development. She knows she’s ‘not good’ with alphas, as she’d put it. There’s merit to his argument; she just doesn’t want to admit it.

“All right, how about this?” Jaime takes a step back, watches Brienne somewhere near the lobe of an ear. “If you’re not convinced, look up some stuff about it. Educate yourself on customs between alphas and interclass communication. See what you’re missing, and then decide.”

“What’s there to decide?” she asks almost desperately. She wants him to give this up, just can’t figure out what to say to satisfy him. Leaning into him, she reasons, “Even if I decide it’s something I want, what’s the next step from there? They don’t have finishing schools for adults.”

“That’s when you go to a clinic and ask for touch therapy. Not all of my patients use me for heat relief, it’s not all we do at the clinics.” Brienne opens her mouth to object, but Jaime plows on, louder. “No one is going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. We help abuse survivors too, and there are therapists on staff. You’re paying for these services, you aren’t guilted or strong-armed into anything. That’s not how it works.”

Talking over her just gives Brienne’s mind time to grow suspicious of him. He sees it in the slight squint of her eyes.

“You’re really insistent about this. Why do you care so much? We can barely stand each other.”

If he were less selfish or a better person, he’d say something honorable. Something wholesome like it’s okay to seek help or that he doesn’t like to see people suffer for no reason. He’s only been honest with her to this point. The gentleness of the lie may give itself away. So Jaime exhales with a huff and takes the risk.

“Because if you were interested, I’d offer to treat you. Because I find you interesting, before you ask why.”

In a rare moment between them, Brienne actually takes a step back. She doesn’t look away, though.

“That seems… wrong somehow. Inappropriate.”

“In what way?” Jaime nearly laughs. “We have no business relationship. I have no stake in Sansa’s situation, although I hope she can find peace now. There’s no forbidden line we’re crossing here.”

“Two alphas together is weird, isn’t it? And besides, your clinic doesn’t take alphas.”

“They don’t for ruts, but we can see patients privately. Meaning you don’t have to join our general pool of omegas seeking heat relief. Not that you would, even if—”

“I get it,” Brienne sighs. “It wouldn’t cause a problem? Having an alpha patient?”

“It won’t be a problem. You’re not convinced yet anyway. Unless you’ve already decided?” Ah, but he’s not meant to pressure her. It won’t be any fun if she’s not willing. “Nevermind, forget I said that. Mull it over?”

“I’ll look some things up,” is all she commits to. Is the last thing she says before she ushers him to the door, not accepting any further stalls for time.

“Wait, wait,” Jaime laughs, hand clutching the edge of the doorway as Brienne’s big hand in the center of his back pushes. The night is pleasant all along his front, but he’s not finished with her yet. “How will I know what you’ve decided?”

She stops pushing.

“I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”

“Just take my number,” he grumbles. “Unless you want to rope a third party into this exploration of intimacy.”

Brienne grunts, “Not really,” and finally takes her hand off him. “Give it to me, I have boxes to unpack and you’re wasting my time.”

Duty calls. Nothing like Brienne on a mission to end their volleys back and forth. Jaime gives his number without another snide remark, although he frowns at the door that slams in his face when Brienne does not reciprocate. He really will have to rely on her to be direct with what she wants. She’s not a coward. Cautious outside her comfort zone, but not a coward. 

It takes until next weekend.

Sansa asks him over for dinner as thanks for helping move her in. Sansa will have told Brienne of this long before calling to invite him. So she must be okay with him being there, even though it’s been radio silence since their parting. 

“I’d love to,” he says genuinely, shoulder supporting his phone as he twirls a pen above the back of a piece of junk mail. “You know, Brienne drove the truck when we were together, so I don’t know the code to get onto the property…”

Sansa hands it over without hesitation. Brienne would definitely know about this as seriously as she takes protecting Sansa. There’s probably an approved guest list somewhere, people given the code specifically. At least bodyguarding provides Brienne some sense of control. He wonders how she’ll fare with him intruding into Sansa’s space. Jaime decides as he trades pleasant goodbyes with Sansa and hangs up that he’ll play nice and behave. Brienne may grow tired of him and just tell him no thanks on his offer. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s shot himself in the foot. 

Normally an invite like this would necessitate a gift, but Jaime hesitates on the what. Whatever thought or meaning he puts into a bottle of wine or the like, Brienne probably won’t allow Sansa to drink it. If Joffrey is that persistent, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to worry about poisonings. At the market, Jaime still finds himself browsing something he recommends before he catches himself. Flowers then. He finds some that are wrapped in clear plastic instead of something more decorative. Perfect.

The code Sansa had given him gets him onto the complex’s property and the car park. Brienne already waits for him as Jaime slips from behind the wheel. He meets her at the walkway that wraps around and between all the buildings. It’s as quiet and private as Jaime recalls from the move—manicured shrubs between buildings to shield from prying eyes, wide spaces between buildings, lights and cameras everywhere. Brienne lives in the unit below Sansa without neighbors on either side. It’s an interesting arrangement—Brienne guarding her all hours of the day and night. Jaime makes a face at the thought of being watched so closely, shoulders shuffling under phantom scrutiny. Then again he’s never been stalked or in the unique sort of danger Sansa is. So Jaime sets the uncomfortable thoughts aside and plays nice with Sansa’s smalltalk, waiting for a moment where he and Brienne are alone. 

Not to nudge Brienne in the direction he wants. Just to gauge how it’s going and if he still has a chance. Or if she’s already decided but hasn’t told him yet. He still doesn’t think of her as anywhere near cowardly. If he’s right then that means Brienne is still thinking about it. She’s tight lipped while Sansa plays hostess with him—thanking him for the flowers and setting them up in a glass of water. The small talk is banal: what he does for a living, his thoughts on recent events, the like. Brienne is busy cooking for them, and Tyrion isn’t here as a buffer so Jaime can just sit and observe her. Sansa has the same nose for history as him and manages to keep him occupied while they see who can list farther back in the Targaryen line. Sansa beats him fair and square, almost smug about it. Jaime can’t find it in him to be a sore loser. Not when he catches Brienne smiling to herself. 

Softness lingers at Brienne’s lips until everything is ready. Jaime has been calm and agreeable all this time. He needs something to keep him awake. So he waves Sansa back to her seat when it’s time to eat.

“Let me help Brienne with that, Sansa, we make a good team when we work together, don’t you think?”

Brienne’s mouth tightens when Jaime looks at her, barely stopping himself from winking. He won’t bring up his proposal around Sansa. Unless he wants Brienne to set aflame any burgeoning trust growing between them. Brienne had told him about being sent away, an unpleasant tale. One he would avoid retelling, he knows. So he makes no jape or flirtatious gesture as he approaches. Just friendly openness.

It’s a tight squeeze in Sansa’s kitchen with Brienne already standing at the range. Truly it’s a one-person kitchen, but that doesn’t stop Jaime from taking plates from Brienne and passing them off to the little kitchen table. Brienne leans her head away the deeper Jaime steps into her personal space. There’s just one plate left, but Brienne won’t hand it over.

“You don’t need this one, I’m fine eating right here.”

“Don’t be silly about this,” Jaime says with a huff. “Sansa invited me here. Staking a claim on her new home would be obtuse, and I wouldn’t do that anyway. So eat with us.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it.”

Lower, he hisses, “I’m not going to ask about that in front of Sansa. Stop being so willful and come here.”

The soft roundness of Brienne’s chin juts out at him in a challenge. She’s already taller than him; she doesn’t need to look down on him like that. 

Resisting a groan, Jaime instead sighs, “Please? Be reasonable.”

“Move.”

Brienne’s free hand is already smacked to his shoulder to mush him out of the way. Brienne picks the chair with its back facing the kitchen. It has a clear shot of the front door and the living room. Jaime flashes Sansa a brief smile, everything is fine, and retakes his spot across from Brienne. Someone has to have their back to the door. May as well be him. This way Sansa is perfectly safe with them boxing her in and shielding her from the window. Jaime knows because he catches Brienne checking. Always on guard. Impressive.

As good as the food is, he hasn’t come here for it, abandons knife and fork after a few bites to ask, “Brienne, do you happen to be a history fanatic like Sansa and myself? I’m sure you heard us nitpicking the Targaryen line earlier.”

When Brienne just shakes her head, too polite to talk with food in her mouth, Sansa picks up the conversational thread for her.

“Brienne’s not interested in lineages and historical figures. She likes participating in battle reenactments, sword fighting, that sort.”

Jaime latches onto that, leans into the table until it digs into his belly.

“Oh, you don’t say?” He’s all eyes on Brienne like the admission had come from her. Lower, he asks Brienne directly, “Are you any good? Fencing was my favorite club at university.”

Brienne just grits her teeth, groans, “Sansa,” when Jaime’s wicked face breaks out into a grin. It’s all straight teeth and squinted eyes, almost makes her look away. Almost.

“She’s won competitions before!” Sansa sits up straighter, hands excited and abandoning her silverware just like Jaime. “Oh, I wish I had video of it. The last one with that great, big fellow with the ginger hair. He was a brute, but she still won. You could probably hear the crowd screaming all the way in Flea Bottom.”

Oh if only someone had gotten footage of it and posted it online. The thought has crossed Jaime’s eager mind to do a little snooping. Look up ‘Brienne Tarth’ on the Internet just to see what he can find. He’s still not sure why he resists prying. 

“It’s just something I do in my spare time.”

Another shallow, throw-away admission to make them drop the conversation. Sansa may not even notice. Jaime does. Only his promise to himself to behave allows Brienne the merciful end. Why tease her when it’s a topic he might actually get her to open up about and speak freely on? He saves this little morsel for later and welcomes Sansa’s curiosity to seek him out again. Jaime steals careful glances Brienne’s way to keep her included but spares her participation. Sansa, ever polite, leaves openings for Brienne to give her input. This is Brienne in work-mode, however, so her brief replies don’t surprise Jaime. Neither does Brienne’s swift departure from the table once she’s done eating to begin cleaning up. He’ll have to wait until he leaves, until Brienne most likely escorts him back to his car, to find out where she stands with him.

Even that isn’t easy. Goodbyes and pleasantries exchanged with Sansa, Brienne is a force behind Jaime, nudging him along the dark walkway and not even grunting a reply to his rapid-fire questions about tonight.

“Did you teach yourself to cook? Do you cook all of Sansa’s meals? Must be nice to share them with an omega you’re taking care of. You’re providing for her, exactly what you need.”

She stops where the walkway ends, his car nestled between two that hadn’t been here when he pulled up. Hopefully he’s not in anyone’s spot. Jaime takes one step towards the car but stops when Brienne remains rooted to the sidewalk. 

Jaime turns around fully, looks up at Brienne through the lamplight and asks softly, “What’s the matter this time? Not talking to me anymore now that Sansa isn’t here?”

“Aren’t you going to pester me about coming to the clinic?”

“Ah, there she is. Don’t make me worry like that, I thought I said something to upset you again.” Jaime taps his grin down and shrugs in regard to her question. “I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to. And you’ll let me know one way or the other. So the way I see it, the next move is yours, my lady.”

“Makes sense now why you talk like that,” she grumbles more to herself than him. Louder she says, “I’m still thinking about it.”

Not exactly the response he’s waited for all night. But it’s not a no. Anything short of a no from her means he still has a chance.

Swallowing his disappointment, Jaime shrugs again and says, “Then I graciously wait for my lady’s decision. Good night, Brienne.”

He figures she’ll march away once he slings himself behind the wheel and yanks the door shut. But no. The headlights flash on and flood her knee-down in blue light. Brienne stands there rooted to the spot with her eyebrows together. That furrow between them is just as puzzled as her lips rolled flat. Blue eyes track him backing out and then away without a word. Jaime watches Brienne in the rearview mirror until the security gate groans shut behind him. She’s just a pale dot on the manicured lawn, a ghost in ethereal glow beneath the lamplight. It takes Jaime shaking himself a little to work out the urge to just spin his wheels and go right back. He can’t push her. She has to choose this for herself or it won’t mean anything. He knows when he’s not wanted.

A number not in his phone pops up on Jaime’s screen halfway home. He assumes it’s Brienne but keeps it casual. 

“Yes, hello? Who is this?”

A sigh.

“It’s Brienne.”

Of course it is, but she doesn’t need to know his suspicions. At least now Jaime has her phone number, although if there’s any hope of him treating her, he can do nothing with it. A pyrrhic victory if there ever was one.

“I’ve barely been gone for twenty minutes! I didn’t leave anything behind, did I?”

“No,” Brienne huffs, put-out. More to herself, she grumbles, “Can’t believe I’m doing this.” Louder, she says, “This touch therapy you keep hounding me about. What does it entail exactly?”

Jaime’s ghostly reflection in the windscreen grins back at him. Yes!

“Well, for you, I would start with something simple. Just to get your feet wet, nothing major. Maybe reading body language and trying some techniques that may help you learn how and when to yield. Basic stuff, really.”

The phone line is quiet static. It’s just the soft rush of them breathing for a moment.

A deep sigh. Resigned.

“I only have availability on Thursday evenings when Sansa is at her support group. It’s the only consistent time I’m away from her.”

Heart in his throat, Jaime forces his eyes to stay clear and on the road when he says, “I can work with that.”


End file.
